When Strange Things Happen
by jen3227
Summary: Draco's only really known Granger for a year. Then strange things happen, and he's at a complete loss. So he does what he does best, and meddles into things he shouldn't.
1. One of Two

**Title:** When Strange Things Happen  
**Status:** Complete  
**Rating:** M  
**Pairing:** Draco/Hermione  
**Banner:** made by **belatrixx** from _TDA_!

**Summary:** Draco's only really known Granger for a year. Then strange things happen, and he's at a complete loss for what he should do. So he does what he does best and meddles into things he shouldn't.

**Word Count:** 2,900+  
**Beta:** Lord, the amount of beautiful people who put up with me and beta-ed every single one my fics after all my revisions. A list: Michelle, Sam, Edith, Terra, and just recently, Paula! Thanks to all you lovely ladies.  
**Notes:** This story was always such a pain in the ass, because I look at the past year and a half like an incredibly bad time, and I didn't write anything of worth. MAINLY BECAUSE I DIDN'T HAVE A FUNCTIONING COMPUTER, LOL. But I got my faithful computer back, and now I'm getting everything out. Also, this was written in response to the fest over at hp_spring_fling.

**When Strange Things Happen: One**

Draco attempted to relax against the uncomfortable chair, finding a position that didn't ensure his premature death. The chair in her office was ghastly. Just like her, he marveled. With all its sharp corners and biting edges, and every little damn thing that made it impossible to be relaxed. Remarkably like her, actually. Nothing new, though. He'd sat in this chair hundreds of times.

He sighed, blinking twice before reaching out to grab the matches near one of her many paperweights, already bored. Draco knew from experience she used them to light candles when she was angry or in a particularly distraught mood, which suited him just fine. He even liked having them here. Saved him from having to grab his wand and light his cigars himself. He'd rather use Granger's property anyway – might even make her angrier when she finally walked into her assumed-to-be empty office. And who didn't take pride in seeing the Golden Girl flustered? _Surely_ not him.

He brought the expensive cigar to his lips, lighting up before inhaling. The taste was horrid, and his lungs and throat burned from the ash. He hated that part, but then he cherished the feeling that came only a moment after. He preferred cigars over cigarettes any day, mostly because the price of one made the other terrible by default. Nothing of quality could be so cheap.

He knew it was a nasty habit – a really, _really_ nasty habit – but he'd relished the way it calmed him down and distracted him from thinking of their unhealthiness. Obviously. What with his sustaining the nasty habit and all.

Draco blamed it on the war, as he'd only started smoking when the war ended. Whenever another cigar was lit, he'd think back to the day he walked away, shaking and broken. He'd always remember staggering off of the field, pausing for a second because it wasn't the best idea, but then Apparating away before he could change his mind. He remembered limping into his house, shooing the house-elves away, and then continuing to the dark and quiet of his father's study – where he opened the cigar case and pulled out the first one he could get his hands on.

He remembered lighting it up and sitting there, inhaling deeply and gazing around the room. His left leg had been bleeding, and he'd assumed there were more cuts and bruises than he'd been able to feel – it hadn't even crossed his mind to heal them until he'd looked down to see blood. Everywhere.

Draco's mother, tragically murdered. His father, rightfully murdered. And him, caught in between the Malfoy name and his Black heart, no guidance to be offered from either of his parents any longer.

His thoughts had been racing, but the only thing he allowed himself to focus on was the cigars his father had refused him the privilege of smoking. And Draco had thought he'd start with the last thing he'd been denied. Just because. Because that was the only thing he had wanted to think about.

What had resulted was his addiction.

An addiction, really, that kept him from ever thinking about the war. He'd never grieved, never thought about all those people who'd suffered, not even his father, and he _loved_ it. Whenever the thoughts came, he'd grab a cigar and smoke the bad feelings away.

Then he'd bug Granger simply because he could.

Draco felt her entering the room, though he hadn't even heard the sound of the door opening. Not even bothering to look up, he stayed in the same place and exhaled a billowing cloud of smoke into the small area. The more smoke, the angrier she'd be, and he'd never let such an opportunity pass. Not with_her_, at least.

"_Malfoy_!" she instantly screeched, and if he hadn't been expecting it, he likely would have jumped. The octaves of her voice approached impossible levels. He didn't know how Potter and Weasley dealt with it on a daily basis, and with smiles on their faces, no less.

"What?" he smirked, glancing up at her irritated expression.

Granger had filled out after they'd left school – grown up, really, just like he had – and in the year between the time they'd finished their seventh year and, when they'd become co-workers, she'd tentatively learned the definition of 'fashion'. Very, very tentatively at that. She no longer wore unflattering knitted sweaters, but when Draco saw her on the rare occasion outside of work, she still reminded him more of his grandmother than a twenty-year-old female. Just because the sweaters had been swapped for something more form-fitting didn't mean her skirts and pants had improved any. He _still_ wondered whether her arse was better than he expected.

Not that he, you know, thought about her arse at all.

"Why is it…" she ground out, placing her hands angrily on her hips, "that you can find no other thing to do here than annoy me?"

Like she didn't say this every time he visited her office. Like they never argued about this at all. Fucking remedial she was sometimes. Although, he thought, it really was the sole reason he always returned – because she constantly had something to argue back with.

He always seemed to find himself in Granger's office whenever he had a craving, and the added bonus of seeing her angry and irritated face was what spurred him to disturb her as often as possible. He'd always enjoyed the sparring she provided, which never failed to alleviate his boredom. And Merlin, did a lot of things bore him lately. Too many things, he thought.

Draco didn't really know why, perhaps couldn't even be arsed to worry about the reason, but the constant boredom was starting to get on his last nerve. At work, that was. He still found it within himself to appreciate his after-work activities and life – he was twenty for Merlin's sake, and not even being deprived of women for three months could make him depressed. Not since he'd been sixteen, at least.

But work was always so _boring_.

Thus, he smoked. A lot. And always in the presence of his most favourite person to annoy. Why else would Granger even be there but to give him something to do? She'd taken the job as a hobby more than anything, and he knew she wasn't obligated in the slightest to show up every morning like she did.

Harry Potter had taken care of that. Draco imagined it'd taken months for Potter to finally convince Granger that the reward had been a complimentary chunk of Galleons from the Ministry rather than something out of his own pocket. Draco should know, having been given the exact same amount of money for helping them in the war. The only difference between him having to come in to work and her not was that, despite joining The Order well before the Final Battle, he was obligated to preserve the family name by default. A dead father with a corrupted reputation and a grieving mother were to blame for that.

Not that he cared much, though. He was twenty, and it was only a matter of time before people started to understand his true motives. The Malfoy name couldn't be tainted for much longer. Especially since time healed all wounds.

"Well," he drawled smoothly, bringing the cigar to his lips before taking yet another deep drag. "It's either this or I spread horrible rumours that annoy you just as well – and you know I have a brilliant imagination – because I can." He paused, brushing lint from his pant leg. "Why I haven't been doing both is a mystery to me, actually."

Granger let out a huff, blowing some of the smoke further away from him. She was likely getting rather annoyed with this – and not in that way where he could bring out the Granger who didn't shut up until her point was made. It seemed he wouldn't receive an argument today. And that pissed him off.

She made a sudden grab for his cigar, and it was stubbed out and thrown in the garbage by the time Draco even noticed she had walked away with it. Stupid bint. "Bitch," he muttered, sliding his feet from her desk before she decided to remove them as well. He wouldn't risk getting his feet spelled off.

Granger's shoulders were stiff, and he could tell a frown was set deep on her face, even as she bowed her head and sat in her own - comfortable - chair. Hands to temples, and then Draco knew for a fact that something was wrong with her. The Weasel probably denied her last night or something. Repeatedly.

"Draco," she murmured slowly - _seriously_ - and Draco was instantly on alert. She was in a bad mood – a _really_ bad mood, and one that he wasn't partial to dealing with. One he would really rather run from – Granger had a temper that could match his own, and even though he willingly dealt with it whenever he was in the mood, she was certainly more melancholy than ever and he had no idea where this could go except down. Distressed moods usually don't call for arguments.

On second thought, he was sort of intrigued. He pulled out his back-up fag, lit it, and ignored her obviously irritated expression, though it wasn't currently aimed at him.

"I'm asking you _nicely_ today. Leave me alone."

"You've never asked nicely before," he pointed out, leaning back once again.

"Well, I'm asking now," she snapped.

"Leads me to believe something happened last night," Draco continued, blowing out a steady stream of smoke. He'd mastered the way it left his mouth long ago, when he'd first started, and he always took pride in his technique as the perfect rings travelled to the ceiling above him. "Especially since you left quite merrily with the Weasel, I'll remind you, before the shots had even arrived."

"Ron. His _name_ is Ron," she corrected quietly, sighing before looking up at him. Her eyes weren't exactly right, and he didn't even want to think about how he wanted to - _ugh_ - make it all better. "I don't want you here, Draco. Not right now. Not even for work, all right? Please. Just go." Then she bowed her head again.

It was just _strange_ seeing her like this.

And he didn't like it one bit.

When they had started working together, she had already gotten over the consequences of the war. Not fully, of course, because no one had, but she seemed able to continue her everyday life without breaking down in tears every hour or so. He'd seen it happen with several other people, on many different occasions, and finding Hermione Granger ready to tackle anything rather than crawl in a corner and cry was refreshing to say the least. Until now.

He wanted to leave, really. Unfortunately, his curiosity was wiping out all other thoughts. She looked like she was ready to cry, the hands on her temples trembled, and the sorrow seemed to grip him too as he watched. This was precisely why he'd travelled abroad for the entire year after the war – saved him having to think about what he did wrong, what he could have done better, and having to witness the aftermath of such a horrible time. Selfish of him, but it saved him in more ways than one.

"Weasley hurt you or something?" Draco eyed her up and down – first her face, neck and then wrists and hands. No bruises, then. He leant forward before exhaling yet another round of rings, pointedly in her face, so she'd look at him instead of the wood beneath her. "_Did_ he hurt you, Granger?"

Ron Weasley had quickly taken on the nickname "The Bull" after the war. On numerous occasions Draco had stopped him from fist-fighting a bloke who was clearly too big for him. Potter had probably done so twice as often as Draco, and that didn't even count the times Weasley had been alone and bored. Draco didn't get it, having been in the war himself and having no inclination to go anywhere near violence again.

Weasley had always been particularly thick anyway.

And if he'd hurt a girl…

"No," Granger breathed, looking up. "Of course not. You know we aren't together," she said much more firmly, shaking her head.

"Good."

Though he was hesitant to admit it, he considered himself and Granger a strange pair of friends. Ever since he'd returned to Britain, catching up with both Potter and Weasley had apparently meant he was catching up with her as well. His time near the end of the war had always been spent in the trio's company, and, though they hadn't made close friends or even friends at all, they'd got along a lot better afterwards. He even found himself going out with them on several different nights whenever it was proposed to him.

"So was it your sole purpose to come here and smoke?" Granger asked in the reigning silence, still quietly. Draco had seen her like this once before, and it had only been a few weeks after his return from travelling. He hadn't used her as an outlet then, not having been properly acquainted since before the war, and hadn't had to see more than two seconds of the absolute sorrow that had stained her expression. "Like it normally is?"

"Naturally." Really. Would there have been any other reason? "But seeing as you're acting–"

And he wasn't really certain he wanted to continue, especially since Granger was looking at him and seemingly hanging onto his every word.

"–_emotional_, I'd rather not pester you until you hex my balls off. I like them right where they are, actually."

"Oh, right," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Because millions of women wouldn't be better off if I did that."

"Oh, fuck off." He _hated_ that she always got back to this somehow, and normally he was irritated enough to walk out on her. It wasn't as if he fucked every woman he saw. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake, and the _quality_ of women was infinitely more important than the _quantity_.

Leaning forward just that much more, she narrowed her eyes as they became scorching. Searing through him. But he gave it right back, unafraid of her defiance. "I did _not_ ask you here, Draco. I told you I wasn't in the mood today – and I'm really, _really_ not. Leave."

They would do this. A lot. Potter and Weasley frowned upon it every time, though Draco really didn't give a fuck. Granger was just so _irritating_ sometimes, and he wouldn't sit there and deal with it by laughing it off, like they did.

"Granger," he said much more softly than it should have come out. Then he followed through with something harsher. Because that's just what he did. "What the fuck is your problem today?"

"A lot." Rubbing her neck, she rolled it in a circle and Draco had to refrain from following her movements with dazed eyes. Her neck was just so…so– Nothing. It was nothing. Nothing at all. "Just leave, Malfoy. I'm not up for your quips today, all right? And you know I hate when you smoke!"

"Of course I know," he scoffed, because she reminded him every time she was around for such a show. Every _bloody_ time. "And…what if I don't have any further insults?" Which was a lie. He had come solely for that, but since she was…since she was being _female_, he might as well act a little on the civil side.

So.

He snuffed out his cigarette on her table, ignoring yet another disapproving expression. Then leaned back. And blinked.

"I don't believe you," she said, crossing her arms. Her eyes were still on the watery side, her hands no longer shook, and her shoulders were a little straighter than when she'd walked in. Good. He hadn't really wanted to make her worse off than when she'd arrived – after, of course, noticing the difference in her normally strong front.

Standing up, he brushed any stray ash off his robes before looking to Granger once more. "I came here to pester you, you know. Like always." And if she was in the same damn mood tomorrow, he'd have something further to say about it. He wouldn't pussyfoot around her emotions again. Then he'd figure out what the problem was.

"I know," she said, a sliver of a smile appearing on her face. "Interesting that you're civil when I'm in a bad mood, isn't it?

"The war is also over," he replied, ignoring her observation. "Anything you are worrying about isn't the worst you've been through."

He left her speechless, and it was yet another thing that he was proud of doing.

Simply because he could.


	2. Two of Two

**Word Count:** 4,400+ (total: 7,400+)  
**Beta:** Lord, the amount of beautiful people who put up with me and beta-ed every single one my fics after all my revisions. A list: Michelle, Sam, Edith, Terra, and just recently, Paula! Thanks to all you lovely ladies.  
**Notes:** Second part to everything - I hope this ends well and is liked. I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts!

**When Strange Things Happen: Two**

Three days passed in the same way.

"Stupid," he muttered, pacing back and forth in his office. "So bloody _stupid_."

And it really was. Draco shouldn't be thinking about this so much. Although he imagined having nothing to occupy his time at work meant there was little to distract him from pondering about her. He had never been a believer of the _you don't know what you have until it's gone_, but the mere fact he was thinking of Granger – and not in his normal, callous way – for hours on end, was worrying.

He hadn't realized, days ago, that it was going to be like this if she ever decided to stop talking to him. While he had known it would make his days at work a lot more boring, he hadn't thought it would ever grate on his nerves so much it would reduce him to _murmuring to himself_ in his own office. Not only did his actions make him angrier, but they made him more curious about the mysterious reasons behind her hostile attitude – either way, he thought, he shouldn't be...God help him..._worrying_ about her at all, if this even constituted as such.

When beginning the tentative friendship when as they'd begun working together in a sub-division for Extremely Dangerous Magical Objects – where they visited convicted Death Eater's houses and confiscated any magical objects that were clearly against post-war regulations – there had never been a chance for friendship between their ridiculous arguments and scathing glares. But then, he pondered curiously, he assumed she'd just become annoyed and begun to take his actions in stride, trying to make a good situation out of a bad one; this had indirectly shown him the Harry Potter side of one Hermione Granger, and as he paced his office, he knew he had begun to like this side too much...

Thus, worrying about her now.

Draco just wanted to know what was going on. What could have happened to make her act so different these past couple of days? She hadn't even stopped by his office like she normally did – usually to say a quick hello and to give him any news on their assignment.

Draco thought about shaking her and _demanding_ reasons for why she was behaving like this. Once, he had even begun to walk to her office when he saw her a few days ago, but the expression on her face had stopped him so short he hadn't even thought about going back and asking her since.

It was pissing him off more than he'd ever believed it could – and simply because she wasn't speaking to him…

"She coming to the meeting?" Draco asked his secretary minutes later, motioning his head toward Granger's office. "The one at three?"

"Er…" Sheila hesitated, searching through a stack of notes. "She hasn't replied yet, actually. She should be there, Mr. Malfoy," she said, glancing back up to him with a warm smile on her face.

"Somehow," he replied, leaning on the higher part of her desk, "I doubt it. Notify me if she does respond."

She didn't.

He truly liked Granger as a friend. It was something he hadn't realized until a couple months earlier, though his more compassionate side hadn't exactly surfaced until recently in regards to their friendship – liking her as an acquaintance, as opposed to worrying about her wellbeing were completely different things in his mind.

Draco only used her as an outlet, in the beginning, but then something had altered one afternoon. He'd been in a particularly distraught mood for the better part of the morning, and had only thought to stop in at Granger's office after making his secretary cry twice in a row, having insulted her callously. He'd thought to take it out on his favourite Gryffindor, mainly because she always gave it back and it had always been a rather good method of draining his stamina and anger by angering her in return. More than anything, Hermione Granger's red face and heavy breathing made him laugh and diffused his bad mood faster than he could think of an another idea that could.

They'd argued and traded witty replies for seven minutes before she'd stopped suddenly in one of her tirades and blinked first in confusion, and then in realization. He heard his secretary crying in the background of his panting breath from yelling, and Granger's gaze had settled on her door when she'd paused before resting her eyes back on his taut shoulders, and then up to his smoldering eyes.

"You've got to be kidding," she'd muttered, stepping back.

"What?" he'd snapped.

She'd gone on to call out his ridiculous antics for having forced her to participate simply because he needed to release his obvious anger, and that it was_more obviously_ not directed at her. Granger had shaken her head, laughed a little, and then looked up at him with a small smile on her face – to say he had been shocked by her behavior would be an understatement. He had honestly thought she was batshit crazy, and that only escalated when she'd told him, in her most dignified voice, that there were _other_ ways to release such anger.

His eyes had widened considerably, but she only stared back in defiance until, finally, she caught the double meaning in her own words and a blush had risen on both her cheeks and the lower part of her neck as she had looked away in her embarrassment.

Draco had quickly let out a guffaw of laughter, his mood immediately changing from anger, to incredulousness, and then being able to chuckle at her expense. Granger had looked up with a glare, but that had left her expression rather quickly as she slowly, hesitantly, laughed a little at her actions.

Ever since then, things had changed. He'd continued to go to her to diffuse his anger, but she never took it personally like she had before and had humoured him by arguing back – which he appreciated more than she'd ever know.

Though it had been only ten days, it seemed three weeks had passed without her - annoying - voice and motherly tone. _Ten whole days_ without ultimately irritating her and having to deal with the consequences. Of basically knowing a life with no Granger whatsoever.

Which, he was just now realizing, wasn't something he liked.

At all.

Granger opened her door on the third knock, and Draco was instantly shocked by the woman standing in front of him or, rather, the _mess_ standing in front of him. Her eyes and nose were red, her hair was in a very peculiar up-do with several pieces falling out, and she was wearing some type of– Sweat pants, he suddenly remembered her once calling them. Normally, he'd push past her and enter her house once the door was open, but again, as it had so many times in the last few days, her expression stopped him.

"You okay?" he said, at a complete loss in the face of her pain, stepping forward only marginally.

She hesitated and bit her lip, then shook her head slowly, looking up at him with her jaw clenched, in what he assumed was a pose to keep from crying. "Draco…" she trailed off quietly, brokenly. "What are–"

He pressed the door open with one hand and reached around her shoulders with the other, pulling her in and closing the door with one swift motion. He grabbed her in for a hug once the door was shut, and he felt her body start to shake only a second after. Draco wasn't at all certain how to calm down a crying woman, but he knew at this moment, no matter how unnatural it seemed, he wasn't even remotely inclined to leave her. The reasons for that he didn't want to acknowledge at that moment – or perhaps ever.

She was soft and pliable in his arms, and he had a rather hard time forgetting that she was a female with a very womanly body pressed against him. Draco let out a breath from the thought, cradling her closer when she began to shake harder. "Granger," he whispered, slowly running a hand soothingly up her back. Well, he presumed it was soothing enough for her, since she moved closer and began to calm down, if only slightly.

"You've got to tell me what's up."

He grimaced a little, hearing his own words in the silence and wondering where in hell they had come from, and so naturally. Because he hated being nice to her. More accurately, he hated the idea of being nice to anyone on a regular basis. And despite his best efforts, sometimes it just came naturally with her, so he'd compensate by smoking in her face or insulting something close to her heart – but right now? There was no way in hell he could be so cruel. Granger was hurting. A lot. And he would much rather make it all better than make her cry more – a thought, obviously, he would never speak of aloud._Ever_.

Draco felt the shake of her head more than he saw it, and he nodded to himself in understanding. He likely wouldn't have wanted to talk about it either had he been in her position. The war had made them all a little more closed off about even the most tedious things.

He pulled back slowly after a few silent minutes, but kept her close when she made no move to release her arms from around his waist. Draco held his breath when their eyes made contact, and he had a sudden urge to take more than just a couple steps away from her.

They were too close.

_Way_ too close.

But it seemed to suit her just fine since she held on a little tighter when he exhaled moments later. "Was it Harry?" he asked quietly, bending over to watch her expression. "Ron?"

Shaking her head, Granger trailed her hand across his hip and leaned further into him – he had to breathe in again when he faltered and began to _feel_ her body. _Merlin_, who knew she was so soft?

"It wasn't… It wasn't them. Not even…close. I just– Now that…now that you're here, I don't want to be alone."

Draco hated her stutters, because Hermione Granger simply did _not_ stutter. She was a strong female with a genuine personality, formed by the situations she'd endured too early in life – similar to his own. She wasn't supposed to be this broken down. Not after she had gone through the consequences of the war, the aftermath, and everything that followed.

Gently grabbing one of her hands made her look up at him in surprise. "You've got to tell me what's wrong, Granger." He was bloody curious, like he always was with everything. Seeing her like this was not helping in the least. Not when it was being dangled in front of him. He never did well in those scenarios anyway.

Her eyes halted Draco, however, and as he gazed into them, waiting for an answer, he asked himself why he'd never got this close to her before. Granger was…well, _Granger_, and he shouldn't be liking the intensity in her eyes, but seeing her in this state, seeing her desperate for someone to just _be_ with her – Draco wanted to brush whatever pain there was away.

And then he wanted to kiss her.

Something he shouldn't want.

Her silence seemed profound in that moment, and when she did nothing to answer his question, the only thing he could think to do was lean forward, watch her reaction, lean forward again– Until he pressed his lips against hers.

Something he shouldn't be doing.

Then his mind went blank at the sensation…at one of her hands grabbing his shirt at the back…the other sliding up his torso…the warmth of her stepping closer.

His hand shot up to her hair, burying one in the mass of her bun while the other held her close at the hip. Her lips were soft and wet under his, and every time he pulled away just to return, she was responding with equal fervour. Granger was still crying, but her whimpers were muted between their short kisses.

Draco kissed her hesitantly, shock belatedly settling in beyond the feel of her against him. He'd thought of doing this several times in the past, of just grabbing her and shutting her up the only other way he could think of that didn't entail further yelling. He'd shake his head, insult again assuming they were in another one of their arguments, and completely forget about it moments later. And now?

Now she was letting it happen – likely too emotionally caught up to even _register_ it was him and not someone morally perfect she deserved.

And for some unknown reason, he was allowing himself to do this as well. Without berating himself like he usually did whenever he had the urge. That probably came later. Which was all fine and well if he got to do _this_, though he was a little doubtful whether he should continue. It was Granger, after all, and she was still whimpering into his mouth as she prolonged her crying.

Granger traced her hands across his stomach, reaching up gently and slowly covering both sides of his face between her hands, simultaneously pulling him closer even as he bent down further. Like they weren't close enough already. Like– Like–

He groaned into her mouth when she bit his lower lip, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her slightly in the process. The death of him, surely, because he shouldn't be doing this with _Hermione Granger_. No one should be doing this with her, the Queen of Virgins. But he was, and he was liking it far too much, more than he even thought possible.

Not that he did that.

Ever. Not even when he sometimes wanted to feel her lips, her body in his hands. No. He never thought he'd enjoy it. Rather thought her skin would cut his own, her tongue would stab him instead, and he would hate it regardless if it even came close to feeling good. That's what he told himself, at least.

Because that was their relationship.

And he _really_ shouldn't be into this as much as he was.

Granger murmured something against his mouth, and he didn't even wait to hear what it was before he kissed her again, biting her lower lip and loving when she shivered and moaned in his arms. Because _he_ was able to get her to respond, a reaction that didn't resemble a red face and voices being several decibels louder than they should ever get. Normally about something tedious – and this certainly, above anything, was not.

It created a strange feeling in his stomach, though he wasn't too sure if it was because he was kissing Hermione Granger or the fact he _knew_ he was and shouldn't be.

Draco had to pull away.

Because– He was going to be a gentleman for once. She was emotionally unstable, and despite that it was _her_ and not another girl who appeared to need this, they were friends and he didn't want to jeopardize a relationship he appreciated simply because he couldn't keep his cock in his pants.

He had to. For once. Because he was going to be polite like he never had been before.

And, not that he realized it at that moment, because it was _her_.

"Granger…" he murmured, pulling away slightly and shaking his head as he searched her eyes. For something. _Anything_. "We shouldn't–"

"Please," she whispered, tightening her hold around his neck as she leant forward. "Just– tonight. Please."

She wanted more. Just like he - apparently - did.

Draco didn't know what to say. Mostly because, if this was any other girl, he wouldn't give a shite about her bloody emotions and how she would feel in the morning. Wouldn't care at all. But this was Granger, with her wide eyes staring up at him. Pleading for _him_. Save for Pansy Parkinson, she was the only other girl he somewhat cared about – though, he supposed, it hadn't really surfaced until she'd shown herself as…as _this_.

"Tell me what's wrong first."

She inhaled, blinking rapidly before shaking her head. "It's just…something that…that happened a couple weeks ago. And I really just want…"

He frowned a little, running a hand up her back. "I know, but…" he whispered slowly, speaking into her neck. Granger held onto him, arching her body into his as he pressed a kiss beneath her ear. Draco sure as hell wasn't giving up on the chance of her standing willing before him, no matter that they wouldn't proceed until he knew the full reason. No matter that, after his first touch, all he wanted was more.

"Oh, _fuck it_," Draco muttered a moment later, holding her more firmly.

He closed his lips around hers, pressing a hand to the small of her back to bring her body even closer. This time he had no hesitation, plunging past her lips and tasting her thoroughly, tangling his tongue with hers as they began stumbling backwards.

No matter that she hadn't told him anything.

A week had passed and nothing changed. Granger– _Hermione_ hadn't returned to work, though she had told him so before he'd left that next morning. She'd said she usually took a couple weeks off when it became too much for her to handle, and since their last assignment had been rectified, she saw no reason to go back just yet.

He'd agreed entirely.

Because he'd slept with her, and that surely meant she was pushed to her limits, perhaps even beyond. She'd been quite vocal about his apparent love for females, and for her to simply let them slide for one night? It definitely signaled _something_ wrong in her life.

Draco had yet to figure out what was wrong with her.

Work had been especially boring in the days following. More so since Draco knew for fact that there was something wrong with Granger, and having to deal with her absence when he couldn't return, lest she'd changed her mind about their friendship, had been trying. He'd have to return at some point, to at least make certain she was okay. He told himself it was because she wasn't holding up her half of their workload.

Draco had already started a cigarette by the time she answered the door, and he blew the smoke out into the foyer of her home as he passed her. He wasn't quite sure how to act around her now that _it_ had happened, so he decided that acting as if nothing had was best. Like usual.

And she did the same.

"People are suspecting you've died," he greeted, settling himself onto her sofa.

"No doubt," she replied with a sigh, following him. "I imagine you didn't come here just to tell me this?"

"How observant of you," he said, blowing out a rather nice set of rings. "Now tell me what's got you so upset."

"Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I mean it, Granger. I deserve to know."

Which blatantly brought up what they had done last week. There was a flash in Granger's eyes, though she shifted away moments later.

"That was–"

"Not something we'll talk about." Because even now, Draco could still remember her writhing beneath him – every sound she made when he touched something sensitive. The softness of her thighs, the pertness of her nipples, the length of her neck… _Everything_. And he needed to forget, and talking about it obviously wasn't something that would help. "But there's a reason. There _has_ to be."

"And what if I don't want to talk about it?" she asked finally, her voice returning to that broken tenor she'd recently picked up.

"Then you'll have to deal with it. You dragged me into this when–"

"When I what? Made you come to my house?"

"When you _pleaded_ with me!"

"That does _not_ count! You have no idea why I was in such a state to not back away from _comfort_."

"And that is exactly why I'm asking you what's wrong! For Merlin's sake, you were acting nothing like your normal self. Like the lights were on, but no one was home–"

"Oh, do _not_ compare to me to a song!"

And silence. He looked at her quizzically, paused in his argument by her exclamation seconds before. "What?"

"The song! I thought…perhaps you were comparing me to…a song." Granger's voice slowly died out by the end, her tone sounding more and more uncomfortable as she spoke.

"A song," he echoed, sighing. "A _bloody_ song." Because that was what had stopped him from getting closer to the truth. Something, dare Draco admit it, he was somewhat worried about. What if she was raped? Perhaps even worse? "That doesn't explain to me what the hell is going on with you, Granger."

"And I still stand by my previous statement; I _do not_ want to talk about it!" Standing up, clearly fed up with his persistence, she whirled toward him. "If this was all you came for, I suggest you leave. You won't be getting any information from me."

"I beg to differ, actually," Draco said, choosing to tower over her. For argument's sake.

"Oh, really! You think you can just argue with me until I give up? You even _believe_ in that arrogant head of yours that I will?"

"I think," Draco drawled, stepping forward, "that you'll tell me because I deserve to know. Like I said."

"You deserve _nothing_, Draco, least of all something like this. Like _I_ said, get out!"

"No!" he yelled, finally angry enough to unleash his fury. "I _ruined_ a completely good friendship because you decided to let this happen. Now I have to act like nothing happened just so I can still be the stupid git to you – and not be the fucker who took advantage of you when you were crying! The _least_ I deserve is to know just why, don't you think?"

"Don't even!" she exclaimed, gaining a couple feet between them by stepping back. "Don't even _try_ and manipulate me like you always do to get information. This is something _serious_, Draco. Not to sate your curiosity and-"

"Oh, don't you _'serious'_ me!"

"And don't try and convince me! I'm _done_, Draco. I just– I can't take this anymore. Harry and Ron leave me alone when this happens. No one else notices. Why is it _you_ who has to pester me about it?"

Draco let out a harsh breath, unable to think of a response. His shoulders sagged from all the breath he'd lugged in during their argument, and he pulled a hand through his hair in irritation. "I don't know, Granger. I just… I don't know."

His indecision and the clearly hopeless tone he'd taken on spurred something within her, and he watched as Granger plopped down on the sofa in front of him, sighing and looking to her clasped hands. "My parents are dead, Draco," she whispered. "Every year, my remaining family holds a…a gathering of sorts," she said, slowly, unsurely, like she wasn't sure whether she really wanted to let the one person she'd never confide in know her secret. "Which was three weeks ago… It should get easier every year, I know it should, but it doesn't. My entire family is always there. It– reminds me too much of…_everything_. The war. All of it, and it just– _kills_ me."

He blinked four times, gazing at the girl in front of him. Draco glanced to the mantle, the door, and then back to the brunette. Draco had to– do something._Anything_.

A moment later, she was cradled in his arms, crying into his shoulder as he held her once more. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So sorry."

And he really was – no person deserved such a fate. Certainly not someone as genuinely caring as she was. And he had the devil to pay if he ever said that to her, or aloud at all. Stupid, soft heart over a crying girl, he berated himself.

He shouldn't have had sex with her in such an emotional state, he shouldn't have visited her today, but now that she was in his arms again, he realized he had missed her much more than he'd originally thought.

_Much_ more.

And perhaps enough to not completely forget what had happened between them.

Especially not now, clasped as she was against him. Again.

And certainly not when, a few minutes later, he could faintly feel her hands pulling him closer, pulling his head closer, and he had to stop himself from searching for her mouth by pressing his lips against her neck instead. _That_ neck…

Granger let out a breath from the gesture, apparently liking it as her hands tensed around his shoulders. "If you want to leave now, Draco, since…since it's breaking up our friendship– then you should…"

"And what if I don't want to?" Draco whispered too fast, unable to hold back his immediate answer, one he knew he should have thought about thoroughly first. He pulled her tighter against him, because not even he could resist at that moment.

So she kissed him.

He thanked all deities above them, wondering how he'd gone so long without having her _right here_, touching him. So many times the tension had been obvious, and they had mutually – and silently – agreed to ignore it just like they did with every other aspect of their relationship. But now…

Now he didn't think he would ever stop.

Simply because he couldn't.


End file.
